COUNTDOWN AFFAIR
Sitting
inside a dimly lit surveillance room, their eyes trained on a large monitor
screen, were two U.N.C.L.E. Agents, unobtrusively watching the guests at the
fulsome party being thrown by the Governor.
While the Governor had his own security detail protecting him, and the
luxury hotel had a team of undercover security men manning all entrances and
exits, the U.N.C.L.E. Agents were there for one reason: Their boss, Alexander
Waverly, was a guest of the Governor and the Old Man did not attend
'wing-dings' without his Chief Enforcement Agent nearby...
"Then
everyone kisses," Napoleon Solo said in conclusion.
"Again?" Illya Kuryakin made a face.
"What do you
mean, 'again'?"
"You welcome
guests to Thanksgiving dinner with a kiss.
You kiss under Christmas mistletoe.
And now you must kiss at the stroke of
"How did you
ring in the New Year in
"In
"I can't speak
for all Americans, but I uphold the tradition because I like to kiss!" Napoleon said jauntily. "Don't you?"
"I would not
know."
"Oh, come
on," Napoleon said. "I've seen
you kiss plenty of women."
"Pressing ones
lips to an Innocent to gain her confidence or to reassure her on a mission may
be considered 'kissing' to you, but not to me."
"You've never
enjoyed it? Not once?"
"It was...nice,"
Illya allowed, "except it would be nicer still if the person I was kissing
felt something more for me than gratitude for rescuing their life. Otherwise it is..." he searched for a
suitable word, "...khuynya!"
The music in the main
ballroom cut off abruptly in mid-tune as the Master of Ceremonies stood at the
microphone and asked everyone for their attention.
"Get
ready!" he said festively. "It's time for the countdown to a
brand...new...year! Readyyy? Ten...Nine...Eight..."
Napoleon and Illya
sat passively, listening while the guests counted along with the MC the last
remaining seconds of the current year.
"Three...Two…ONE!!" the crowd screamed as
poppers went off and colorful streamers and confetti rained down on them. Added to the growing din were party whistles,
tin rattles and the beginning strains of Auld Lang Syne.
Illya, however,
couldn't hear a sound. His heart was
beating too loud in his ears as he found himself thrown back in a dip, his lips
captured by demanding ones belonging to a handsome dark-haired man.
The kiss had started
out firm and homogeneous, as if Napoleon were merely pulling a prank on his
friend. Soon it evolved into a softer,
sensuous melding of two mouths, each hungry for the other.
When they eventually pried themselves apart, Napoleon was the first to speak.
"There. You can't tell me that was khuynya!" he grinned.
"Yes, it
was," Illya said angrily, righting himself. "You were toying with me."
"I would never toy with you, Illya. I value my life too much!"
"Make your jokes,"
the Russian straightened his tuxedo.
"It is time for our rounds.
I will take the right side of the roo---"
The words died on the
blond's lips as he was pinned against a wall, his
mouth once again imprisoned by those of Napoleon. If it were anyone else, they would have found
themselves kicked in the groin and karate chopped into unconsciousness. Yet Illya could hardly attack his immediate
supervisor. Had he wanted to...
"You're
right," Napoleon said, releasing him.
"It is time for our
rounds. I'll meet you back here in
twenty minutes. Then you can toy with me!"
Again, Illya
straightened his tuxedo. "Twenty
minutes," he said. "And do not be late!"
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